


The Dreamcatcher

by SuhailaUniverse



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, One Shot, set in the showverse and bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 10:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20080585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuhailaUniverse/pseuds/SuhailaUniverse
Summary: A one-shot fic, set the morning of Claire and Jamie's first meeting in the books/pilot.





	The Dreamcatcher

He dreamt of the Dreamcatcher again.

He sensed it the moment his eyes opened in the dream. He could smell the scent of herbs and earth in the air. Her scent. He stretched out a hand and felt her warmth still linger in the bedsheets beside him. He raised himself on his elbows and looked around the room, but it was empty.

He slowly got up, his body smooth and lithe. He was naked, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Nothing ever did here. He moved through the house, light and quiet, as if he glided rather than walked. It was just as he remembered it. Everything felt comfortable and in its place. The plants on the window sills flourished. The sofa looked cushiony and inviting. A wee gray cat lay dozing on the hearth by the dormant fireplace. Everything was thrown into the serene shades of a slowly dying summer sun.

He knew then where she’d be.

He made his way to the back porch of the little rustic cabin. And there, leaning against the wooden railing, she stood watching the last of the late summer sunsets touch the distant mountains. There was a faint smile on her face as her dress, light as clouds, caught on a gentle breeze and hugged her body like ripples of water. She shut her eyes, tilting her chin ever so slightly upwards, her loose brown curls - “ _ a rather dull colour brown,”  _ she always said, the thought coming vividly to him suddenly - caught too, on the breeze and flowed ethereal behind her like the delicate feathers of a dreamcatcher. The rays of light shone through it, turning auburn in spots where the sun kissed it, reminding him of the water in a burn, ruffling down the rocks. 

_ Mo nighean donn _ , he thought, his breath catching.

He stood there, perhaps seconds, perhaps hours. Perhaps, even, a lifetime. He couldn’t tell anymore if this was all real or a daydream or a memory. A hope? He was suddenly overcome with the need to touch her then, wrap his arms around her, feel her warmth seep through him whilst he buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in. 

But as suddenly as the aching urge had come over him, as suddenly as he’d taken that decisive step toward her, the world around his vision began to distort and blur. She seemed to finally sense him and turned with a beaming smile. The sight of him, he  _ knew,  _ took her breath away. She reached a hand out towards him, beckoning him to her, but the inescapable haziness seemed to pull him further away instead. The darkening blur closed in around her and the scream with which he needed to call out to her caught in his throat, as she breathed a single word, her voice that was barely a whisper - a  _ memory? - _ in the darkness now, filled him completely. 

_ “Jamie...” _

_ *** _

“Jamie! Jamie, ye eejit! Get up!”

He felt a rough hand shake him loose of his vivid reverie. The Dreamcatcher gone. And a dreary dawn drizzle chilled him to his core. He cracked open an eye and saw a tangled bushy beard hover over him. Murtagh.  _ Dammit. _

“We must make haste,” Murtagh babbled on, as the camp around them readied itself for the day’s journey. “Dougal wants to make it back to Leoch by the end of the day, he says,” Murtagh finished, straightening up, he gave Jamie an unceremonious kick in the ankle.

“Aye,” Jamie replied groggily. But it felt unreal to him yet. He moved and packed and loaded his horse as if in a trance. Unfeeling and detached. His mind and heart still on that porch, still with that nameless…  _ Sassenach. _

He couldn’t (or  _ wouldn’t _ ) tell what - or when - was real anymore. His time in that cabin always felt tangible and real. He knew that was where he belonged, with her. Yet this too, this relentless plodding through the Highlands was real too, but  _ less  _ so, somehow. And no matter how many times he told himself that it -  _ she  _ \- was nothing but a figment of his imagination, of the months old blow to his head, he could still feel the echo of her voice, the scent of her body and the softness of her porcelain skin beneath his fingertips…

And as he was wont to do for months now, he began counting down the seconds till he could sleep once more, only so he could wake in that cabin again. 

To wake to his Dreamcatcher.

***

**END.**


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